


Office Party

by comebackjessica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1970s, 1980s, 70s, 80s, Alternate Universe, Banter, Christmas, Crack Treated Seriously, Death Eaters, F/M, Gen, Humor, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape Friendship, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slight Lucius/Snape if you squint, Snape and Lucius The Dynamic Duo, Winter, possible canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28812657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica
Summary: In the ancient ruins of a castle, Death Eaters gather for an extraordinary Christmas meeting. Antonin Dolohov spikes the punch, Lucius Malfoy feels a migraine approaching, Snape smokes like a chimney and uses sarcasm as his coping mechanism. What could possibly go wrong?
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Office Party

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Office Party](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265802) by [comebackjessica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/comebackjessica/pseuds/comebackjessica). 



> This has a slight Lucius/Snape undertones, if you squint. Also it's crack treated seriously, and Bella/Snape mentioned at the end. If it's not your cup of tea, then you might want to skip this one. Otherwise, please enjoy!

In the dead of night on Christmas Eve, two masked men apparated with a loud crack in the middle of a freezing-cold moor.

“Where are we?” asked the taller one.

He pulled the uncomfortable white mask off of his face and carefully inspected the portkey.

“Somewhere… Merlin’s cotton panties!”

The other man used his wand as a compass and lamented his life.

“Hayworth!”

“Where?!”

“Yorkshire, Snape. I dare say this couldn’t have possibly been worse.”

“Bloody hell!”

The portkey, a perfectly inconspicuous snuffbox, was cast right into the nearest frozen puddle. Countless of the same tiny reflective mirrors spotted the moor, as it was a particularly cold December evening.

“I should remind you this was your idea, Lucius,” hissed Snape and tried to tie the mask back on.

Unfortunately, his fingers were too cold and stiff to cooperate, and the fancy ribbons attached to the mask – too slippery. Damn the bloody Lord and his bloody dramatic attire!

“Fuck!” 

Pissed off beyond belief, Severus hurled the mask away from him and turned around, his black robes billowing dramatically behind him.

Hayworth was an isolated village, completely cut off from the rest of the world. Everywhere around it – a similar scenery of darkness, frost, and a rather bleak weather forecast for the foreseeable future. Chances for anyone stumbling upon them here were rather slim so Snape could probably afford it to loudly swear to his heart’s content. 

“ _ Mon ami _ , I do not think we’ll be discovered,” Lucius confirmed, “however, one might want to suggest treating one’s tools of the trade with a little more dignity.” 

With a swift swipe of his wand, he summoned Snape’s mask and cleared off any traces of frozen grass blades or any other scum one might come across in Yorkshire. What an utter dump, for Salazar’s sake…

“Family heirlooms?” Snape sneered before accepting the mask back.

Lucius inspected his dark, elegant gloves closely, and since apparently their state of cleanliness appeared satisfactory, he did not dignify that remark with an answer. 

“Just as I thought.” Severus seemed to have been perfectly content to answer the question himself.

He put the mask back inside the vast pockets of his Death Eater cape and waved his wand. Thousands of glimmering blue wisps spread around the moor. 

“Just like your bloody snuffbox, damn it! Portkeys need to be properly calibrated, you can’t just leave them about, rotting somewhere with the rest of your ancestors’ crap!”

“Hold your tongue, Snape.” Lucius could tolerate quite a lot from his friend but he apparently drew the line at insulting the keepsakes of the noble House Malfoy. “You yourself should know perfectly well that the Dark Lord needs to keep his location secret. He couldn’t have just bloody well given us his exact address!”

“Fortunately, one of your esteemed ancestors just happened to have an outstanding invitation to Nasty Manor laying around the house.”

Caught in a lie, Lucius was of course ready to lie some more, but finally gave up the idea. Truth be told, Malfoys and a  _ coup d’etat  _ were concepts inherently tied together ever since Septimus Malfoy and his suspicious influence on the then Minister of Magic. There was no use in denying the obvious, especially not to Voldemort’s best spy.

“I’ll have you know, that snuffbox cost a pretty penny,” said Lucius, as if the other Death Eater had any doubts. “I hope you realize that.”

“Hmm…” Snape presented one of his nastier sneers. “Belonged to your father, then?”

“Grandfather.”

Entirely pleased with himself, Severus decided not to drag the subject any further.

“Was he the frequent guest, then?”

Alright, some habits were hard to give up.

“Do us this courtesy and shut up, Severus.”

Snape pretended to bow and started to cackle, in the meantime rummaging through his pockets in search of cigarettes. With a deep existential sigh, he lit one and offered the pack to the other Death Eater. Malfoy graciously accepted the offer and then took a drag so long that Severus thought for a minute the other man was going to choke. 

“Well,” Lucius said philosophically, glancing around the moors, as the last of the wisps slowly went out. “I guess we’re fucked.”

“ _ Oui. _ ”

“Oh, fuck off!”

* * *

Nasty Manor was once an impressive castle, alongside with the fields and rich orchards that surrounded it. Now a crumbling, dilapidated, forgotten hellhole, it haunted the hill and the wild moors upon which it stood. In time, bizarre extensions were attached to the construction with magic for the sole purpose of making it somewhat habitable. Ruins of two towers on the sides of the main entrance or a massive gash in the roof of the main hall – every time he came to visit, Lucius could not decide which part was his personal favorite.

Nasty Manor was entirely private and at this time the only known lair of the Dark Lord, owing its name to the snarkier in the Inner Circle (Snape) that simply didn’t know who the castle belonged to earlier and what its proper name had been then. Truth was disappointingly simple as the ruins, rather pretentiously called Lotan Hall back in the day, was part of Voldemort’s rather unimpressive inheritance. Because the already weakened line of Merope Gaunt was now dead entirely – save for the one heir apparent – the entire estate belonged to him now. Before Voldemort’s ancestors squandered their fortune, it was Lotan Hall that they proudly identified as their ancestral home. Despite all the assumptions of his Death Eaters, Voldemort actually got the property without any casualties.

“After you.” Lucius’ expensive boots made clicking noises as both men made their way towards the heavily fortified gates to the main hall.

Tired of the howling wind and the rain pelting down his robes, Snape was in no mood to argue. With the tip of his wand he made a cut on his palm and murmured the incantation. That was never the pleasant part of the process. He stuck his palm to the gates and finished the spell that triggered the opening mechanism. The gates to Nasty Manor opened with an infernal creak.

“You can already see who’s the true believer!” Lucius followed Snape briskly, his pace so different from his companion’s brooding manner. “We’re early!”

“What a relief,” Snape grunted as he covered the wounded hand with a semi-clean handkerchief. 

The main hall looked no better than the rest of the dilapidated labyrinth of ruined walls and cracked stone floors. The largest part of the somewhat still-standing construction was a cavernous chamber, probably once a glorious ballroom. Part of its ceiling has long since collapsed and the gaping hole illuminated the dark sky. Snape sighed heavily and readied himself for inescapable frostbite. He had long suspected that Voldemort could no longer feel temperature, or anything at all for that matter. 

The first small units of the Inner Circle that had already gathered only confirmed Snape’s theory in the way they now crowded in small subgroups – by pretending to whisper of Very Important Conversations, the Death Eaters were clearly trying to conserve heat. Severus was not going to descend to that level. In his usual habit, he quickly utilized his old tricks and surrounded his mind with a tight barrier of Occlumency. In a company such as this one, one could never be too careful.

“Ha!” A familiar shriek sounded behind him.

Severus could smell her heavy perfume before she even approached him. He still couldn't figure out their exact notes and ingredients. Ever the ambitious Slytherin, he tried to re-create this exact fragrance countless times, with no particularly impressive results.

“Bella.” Snape greeted her with a curt nod.

Despite the fact that Snape now surrounded himself with far more important people than in his school days (if one could even assume he had associated with anyone then), he couldn’t quite stop being himself. At this point, Severus could already figure out most of the wizarding aristocracy. He observed their habits closely, he even expertly mimicked some of them, and yet… what still fascinated him most were all these secret family potions – those recipes kept hidden for hundreds of years; at least one such rare diamond in each family. 

From potions to poisons passed from great-grandmother to mother, and finally granddaughter... Yes, he pricked up his ears whenever rumors broke that someone had died under suspicious circumstances at a family dinner. Snape was also very intrigued to have found out that every significant pureblood family also possessed (amongst other closely kept secrets) their strictly guarded recipes for fabulously fragrant, luxurious, and unimaginably expensive perfumes. After all, no wizarding aristocrat would dignify her glorious neck with some common, shelf-stored product. It should be noted that during boring parties, Snape usually had far too little to do. No wonder then that, like an old pervert, he sniffed – for which he had, in fact, ideal physical predispositions – and occupied himself with figuring out the possible notes and ingredients.

“Snape!” Shrieked Bellatrix and promptly pulled the mask off his face. “Cheer up! Merry Christmas!”

She clapped her hands and chuckled maniacally once she saw the familiar scowl. 

The smell of her perfume was so strong that if Bellatrix ever wanted to ride an elevator, she would have choked her fellow passengers instantly. It should be noted that the most devoted of the Death Eaters never bothered with uniforms herself, which the Dark Lord sometimes allowed her for reasons completely unrecognized by anyone else. Other times, he would cast a powerful  _ Cruciatus  _ on her, which Bella always accepted with pride, humility, and noble dignity.

And then, Bellatrix would receive Voldemort’s unspoken exemption for any of the twisted actions she might had in mind.

“Merry Christmas, sister!” Lucius always knew when to intervene between these two, and this time he was levitating three large cups with mulled wine before him. Who was Snape to refuse alcohol, especially since it was rather certain that one Antonin Dolohov had most definitely already spiked the drinks with something stronger.  _ Za zdorovie! _

“Do something with him.” Bellatrix glared at Snape and graciously accepted the drink offered by her brother-in-law. “He keeps pretending we’re strangers.”

“Good, old-fashioned work ethics.” Snape bowed before her, though never losing eye contact with her equally dark and impenetrable eyes.

Bellatrix sneered at him and cackled before downing all of the contents of her cup.

“Where is my sister?” She pointed a finger at Lucius.

“Pregnancy doesn’t quite agree with her delicate constitution, as you may know. The sooner the due date finally comes, the better.” Lucius had also discarded his mask in order to sample the dubious drink in peace.

Only a few and very radical individuals still pretended that it was an anonymous meeting. Most knew who they were dealing with – by Merlin, the majority here had spent their formative years together in the same dormitory. One could possibly be acquainted closer only with siblings or one’s own mother.

“I don’t know,” Bella growled. “How could I know? She doesn’t share things with me.” She held her head high and sneered again.

She knew Snape was watching her carefully and it seemed like this evening she wanted him to.

“Nor with me, thank Salazar.” Lucius toasted with his cup and nodded. 

Bellatrix rolled her eyes and took her cue to leave, undoubtedly going somewhere to do more harm than good. Tonight, she seemed especially devil-may-care and even though Snape had already placed his bets, now he was kind of eager to see where the meeting might take him.

“One more then?” Lucius has already summoned two more drinks towards them, so it seemed like hardly a choice.

Snape emptied his current goblet and took the next without a word. At one point, Augustus Rookwood joined their sarcastic party of two, mumbling something about the Department of Mysteries. Lucius was quite invested in the conversation, at least for a while, while Severus listened only out of habit; his perpetual sense of danger wouldn’t let him ignore Augustus completely. Fortunately, the current boss of the Unspeakables was a lightweight and quickly began to mumble, which in turn allowed Bella to suddenly snatch Augustus and order him to bring her more wine. This opened the floor to Snape’s favorite show, “Bella’s Marriage Crumbling To Bits”. 

Bellatrix, always the wild card and prone to exaggeration, had once again seized the opportunity to show off. After Rodolphus chastised her, she ended up casting extremely nasty  _ Locomotor Mortis _ at him, debilitating him quite spectacularly. She then wandered down the hall without a word, no doubt to wreak havoc elsewhere. Rabastan Lestrange, most likely at the behest of his older brother, followed her like a dog.

“I’m fine!” Rodolphus swung his fists at the young Barty Crouch. 

Barty was now rather obviously trying to win some favors with the older man, judging by his desperate attempts to break Bella’s hex.

“Ah, our good friend has joined the party.” Lucius pointed Snape towards Avery Sr., who was as per usual looking at the crowd with dark contempt.

As part of Voldemort’s original guard, Avery tended to consider himself a better rank than the rest of the unruly children gathered here today.

“Shall you confer with your colleague, Sev?”

“Very funny,” snapped Severus.

“I do my best. So, how is that… library of his doing?” Lucius was relentless in his inquiries. 

“Antiquarian bookstore.” Snape shook one measly and crumpled cigarette out of the pack, which was then immediately snatched by Lucius.

Snape sighed and pulled out another one, visibly annoyed. His entire acquaintance with Lucius had from the beginning been based on cautious dislike (for it was unusual, even in Slytherin, to openly make enemies of one’s fellow housemates). In time, it turned into a strange familiarity. Snape wanted to hate Malfoy with every fiber of his being, however, Lucius proved to be too amusing a companion. In the atmosphere of bizarre friendship that continued to puzzle everyone, both often wandered together around Nocturne Alley, eliminating or intimidating individuals inconvenient for the cause.

Sometimes, when Lucius was in dire need of an escape from his marriage of convenience, he would unexpectedly show up on Severus' doorstep. They would discuss life and death into the cold light of morning, usually tripping or in a state of deep inebriation – after all, Snape possessed a plethora of suspicious substances in that dingy apartment of his. Would be a pity not to take advantage of his stash.

“Ah, the bookstore. How romantic.” Lucius possessed a certain sort of knack for invoking an especially snobbish tone. 

He manipulated the subtext and deftly suggested absolute disgust under the guise of courtesy, delivered, of course, with a posh accent. Snape could never quite master it. He supposed his own tongue might have grown up too common.

"Not really," Severus muttered. “I hear the business has been poor lately.”

Avery Senior’s health suffered a decline. None knew exactly why, except for Snape who, as was his habit, got to the bottom of things in no time. Now he was obviously tempting Lucius with more intel.

“You don’t say?” Malfoy raised his eyebrows at that. “I’ll bet the devil my head these are new dragon hide boots.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. That new wig must have cost you a fortune.”

Both exchanged knowing looks. Snape knew very well that he was certainly allowed more around Lucius than others. And after all, at this point Lucius was the only other person that knew of Avery Sr. and his active scheme against the embargo on certain… illegal substances. All of course under the guise of selling rare books and suspicious volumes. At the other end of the bargain, Snape was the one who supplied Avery with these substances and potions – all under the patronage of the great and noble House Malfoy that covered the tracks of the whole operation. All of this of course bound all three together till death do them part – or Azkaban; whichever comes first. 

Avery Sr. was quite different from his son, whom the Potions Master personally detested. Unlike his son, the father usually asked few questions and paid in cash. It was perhaps the most fruitful and harmonious collaboration in all of Diagon Alley.

“Oh well, such is life. After all, he comes from the family of merchants, what could one expect?”

“Don’t be a snob.”

“ _ Moi? _ ”

The truth of Avery’s health was rather unfortunate for all three involved, as their business would probably come to a halt very soon. Avery had gone against Snape’s strict instructions about one particularly nasty artifact, and was now paying the price. It turns out, a powerful and slow-working curse had been cast on the item. 

Avery did not mention his upcoming demise even to his own son, which now placed Severus in the bizarre position of a business partner and a will executor, all rolled into one.

“He really doesn’t look well.” Lucius shook his head.

“Not worse than Crabbe, perhaps,” mused Snape.

“Don’t be a cunt, Severus.” Lucius snickered. “Their unfortunate looks are a matter of heritage, I’m afraid. Although, I seem to remember one particularly agreeable ancestor in that family tree. She was, of course, quickly married off to some insignificant Black.”

“You suppose it could have been a gardener’s daughter, then?”

“So cynical, Snape!” Lucius laughed a bit too boisterously, which had in turn grabbed the attention of one other colleague both would otherwise prefer to avoid.

“Gentlemen,” Nott greeted them awkwardly.

He was the sort of man who loved theatrics and dramatic notions, so the white masks and ridiculously oversized black cloaks were right up his alley. If Snape hadn’t known better, he’d venture a notion that Nott was the one behind the idea for the uniforms. Nott was, unfortunately, a failure through and through, and basically lived his days by spending more and more of his family fortune. If Severus had only one Christmas wish, he would probably wish for Voldemort to finally smite this one out of existence.

“What do you want, Nott?” 

Malfoy could of course allow himself to openly detest someone like Nott, Snape mused, since as a high-born he basically outranked most of the Death Eaters here.

“I-,” Nott hesitated for a while, taken completely off-guard by Lucius, so deliberately breaking the rules of the masquarade.

After a minute, the man finally decided to bother somebody else and took his leave.

“You didn’t have to be so short with him,” Snape uttered, though not in his usual hostile tone, as he was a man capable of gratitude, after all.

“Really?” Lucius was thoroughly amused. “Has Christmas turned you soft, Snape?”

“I hate you.”

“I know. Here,” Lucius took advantage of both their cloaks having similar range to that of a stage curtain, and slipped Snape a small package. “Merry Christmas, Snape.”

“I… I didn't get you anything,” said he, in a rare moment of honesty.

He unwrapped the silver paper and his brief look of surprise was quickly replaced by the usual trademark scowl.

“Marlboro lights?”

“Your favourites.” Malfoy was thoroughly enjoying himself, and Snape couldn’t decide if it was the wine talking or perhaps the satisfaction from the prank.

“You shouldn’t have,” Severus snapped, though doing his best to hide a smirk.

“You are welcome. What are old friends for?” Lucius looked as if he wanted to add something else but gave up immediately after seeing all the other members of the Inner Circle shuffle and murmur.

“Ah. Showtime,” Malfoy muttered and put his mask back on.

Snape did the same, knowing full well what was about to happen. As soon as he did, he felt the temperature around them suddenly drop. All conversations grew quieter, then finally ceased. Somewhere near him, Snape saw Bella prancing happily to the front of the crowd and bowing obediently. Everyone followed her example on instinct, as her intuitiveness toward the Dark Lord never failed. Few seconds passed and finally all got to bask in the presence of one of the most powerful wizards in magical Europe. 

Severus craved a cigarette.

Judging by Voldemort's grave expression and the particularly sinister aura surrounding his whole person, there will be no wafer after this speech.

“Friends… Faithful companions.” Voldemort spread his arms in a suspiciously benevolent manner.

Nagini slithered from somewhere under his cloak, hissing in the general direction of the crowd.

Now completely bald and noseless, Death Eaters’ messiah no longer resembled his old self that some had the chance to meet when first recruited. Severus glanced at Lucius and despite having masks on, knew exactly what Malfoy, famous for his impeccable taste, thought of their Lord’s new look.

“I do not have much to say to you today,” a wand materialised in Voldemort’s skeletal hands. “Except to sincerely express my gratitude.”

The quiet, muffled tone of this speech somehow still echoed and managed to reach everyone. Snape suspected a spell. Or collective hypnosis. He was also not fooled by the quiet introduction; he felt in his bones that at any moment, the true chaos in Voldemort’s nature would be revealed.

“Together, we achieved greatness.” The Dark Lord paced slowly in front of his Death Eaters, like a Roman general ready to mobilize his troops. “By the end of this year, we will have seized all power in the Department of Mysteries,” pause for effect and a nod towards Rookwood. Snape snickered in his head. Old Augustus must be hard by now. “However, I couldn’t forget all the personal favours and many sacrifices for our cause from perhaps the most faithful of you.”

_ Shit. _

Snape froze in place. All heads turned towards him; somewhere in the crowd he noticed Bella’s furious scowl. Now was probably time to use all his tricks, so as to hide any emotion.

“And yet…” Voldemort raised his wand and nodded, deep in thought. 

He took one step closed towards Snape, Death Eaters parting before him like the Red Sea. 

“And yet I couldn’t help to notice, Severus, that your respect and trust in the cause has weakened.”

“My lord…”

“ _ Crucio.” _

* * *

Bellatrix found him in the courtyard. He managed to get out only thanks to Lucius. Snape’s famous willow bark potion partially numbed him but couldn’t lessen the pain entirely. Not after so many  _ Cruciatus  _ curses.

“You don’t have to be so smug,” Snape muttered, lighting a cigarette with trembling fingers.

She hissed at him like a cat.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” Just like his mask before, now she grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers and took a strong drag.

As Snape watched her, and with a dress cut out like that at the back it was impossible not to watch her, he almost forgot that she was standing so close because she obviously wanted something from him.

“Luckily for you, it’s almost over,” he said, eyes fixed somewhere above her head. 

He wondered if Lucious would be terribly irritated with him if he just teleported home without saying goodbye. Judging by how heated his political discussion with Yaxley had gotten… probably not very.

“Lucky for me?” Bella took a step closer, holding her cigarette like a classic femme fatale in all these Muggle movies.

Severus pondered for a split second, what would she have thought about them if she ever saw one. Her evil laughter pulled him out of his thoughts.

“The way I remember it, you were the one who almost pissed your robes!”

“Nice to know I’m in your thoughts.” Snape sighed and looked at the sky.

Can this cursed Christmas time finally be over? Or could some benevolent Saint of Losers drop a brick on his head? Both would be most appreciated. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in this much pain,” Bellatrix mused, as she finished the cigarette and cackled. “ _ Ooh, ooh, my lord!” _ she mocked, visibly very pleased with herself. “Like a slaughtered pig!”

Severus rolled his eyes and sighed again. Merry fucking Christmas.

“Bellatrix…” he said after a good minute, his eyes cold and dark. 

This grabbed her attention, if just for a minute. Snape tended to gather his wits rather quickly, even after torture. He peeled himself off of the castle wall and bowed elegantly before her. 

“Your very presence made this event more enchanting. Good evening.” He tried to walk past her. Unfortunately, having underestimated the extent of his wounds, he nearly fell down.

To his astonishment, Bella caught his arm in time. Snape looked into her eyes, equally dark as his, not knowing if he should beware or be thankful.

“You can let me go now,” he said quietly.

“No.”

“Your husband is ten yards away.”

“I know.”

Snape looked behind his shoulder, instinctively feeling Rodolphus’ rage on his back.

“No,” he repeated, weaker this time.

“Yes.” Bellatrix grabbed his other arm and took out her wand with flourish. “To Diagon Alley.”

“Fresh out of school books and potions, are we?” Severus decided to be snarky since his dark and dignified pose was now out the window.

“I have some errands.”

“Of course you do, Bella.”

“Do shut up.” She squeezed closer to his body. Snape smelled her perfume again and knew he was damned. “Kiss me, maybe this will finally land my husband over the edge.”

“Or me – in St. Mungo’s.”

Bella threw her head back and laughed, her mane of dark curls cascading down her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas, Snape!” she yelled, for the whole gathering to hear.

“Oh, how I hate you.”

_ Merry fucking Christmas. _


End file.
